


Fronti Nulla Fides

by Asellas



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crossdressing, Eventual evil space boyfriends, Humor, I really am sorry, I'm Sorry, M/M, Phasma playing matchmaker, i'm shit at summaries, kinkmeme fill, this just garbage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asellas/pseuds/Asellas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Kylo Ren has (had) a secret, Phasma may or may not just have a gambling problem, and Hux is... well, Hux.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the TFA Kinkmeme prompt: http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/3961.html?thread=9508473#cmt9508473  
> "Pre-TFA. Sometimes Kylo likes to feel pretty. If the crew luck out and get some shore leave, he'll break out his best lipstick and nicest dress, and spend a bit of time on the mostly empty Finalizer strutting his stuff. He's clearly not a beautiful woman, and those muscles are pretty obvious, but since nobody has ever seen Kylo Ren's face, he could be ANY dude in a dress.
> 
> Except, Hux meets Kylo in drag, and falls head over fucking heels in love. He's also completely oblivious to who he's hitting on, and damn if that attention doesn't make Ren feel pretty!
> 
> I'd prefer Kylo to identify as a male who happens to like dressing up, but beyond that, you can go wild with this prompt."  
> Title translates to "No faith in appearances".  
> Yeah. Um... I haven't written in like 3+ years, so... I'm sorry. But I couldn't resist. I've fallen into this goddamn trash compactor. I spent my entire day off writing this, and it's not really edited. To the OP of the prompt, I hope this is somewhere close to what you were wanting, apologies if not. 
> 
> I'm working on the next part, but it might take a little while to get done.
> 
> Reference for Kylo’s little black dress:  
> http://img1.promgirl.com/_img/PGPRODUCTS/1461874/1000/black-dress-EM-EEI-1027-001-a.jpg
> 
> If you have any suggestions for any dresses/outfits/anything for our favorite Darth Tantrum please leave me a comment!

The memo had been sent out two days before. Two weeks of shore leave while the Finalizer resupplied and recalibrated its hyperdrive system. The excitement of the crew was nearly palpable, the feeling of it bleeding into Kylo Ren when he skimmed the minds of those nearby with the force. They had reached orbit of some planet he didn’t know, or care to know really, the name of. Following the completion of orbital procedures and the disconnecting of the hyperdrive reactor the first round of crew boarded transports and headed planetside, leaving the Finalizer with a skeleton crew. It was so quiet now, Kylo though, as he reached his awareness out among the cold, deserted corridors of the ship. No tens of thousands of mental voices chattering like small birds, no eyes watching every little dark corner.

Kylo, master of the knights of Ren, tilted his head back and forth in his mirror, making sure most of the marks on his face were concealed and his lipstick hadn’t smeared. Satisfied that his makeup was done to the best of his ability he left the refresher, stopping to look into the full-length mirror in his bedchamber. Unconsciously he smoothed the fabric of the black dress over his hips, enjoying the soft yet smooth feel of it beneath his fingers. The feel of excitement mixed into a nervous energy in his stomach as he checked the straps crisscrossing his chest and over his shoulders. Stepping away from the mirror into the main room of his quarters he slipped on a pair of sandals, checked to make sure the corridor was empty. He took in a deep breath, hit the button for the door, and swept out from his rooms.

 

-

 

“You lose again, captain,” crowed one of the bridge staff, a lieutenant whom Phasma hadn’t bothered to learn the name of. Phasma threw her cards to the center of the table and focused on draining the rest of her beer. It was her fifth loss in a row, kriffing hell she had no luck lately.

“Deal again, I’m not done yet!” She slammed her empty glass down and tossed a handful of credits into the pot at the center of the table.

“Sure, we’ll make a beggar of you yet.” Hux gave her a sly smile as he took a drag from his cigarette, calling her bet. Phasma was honestly surprised that he had left the bridge at all, even more so that he had joined them in one of the recreation lounges. Still, the closest he’d gotten to relaxing were the tumblers of Corellian brandy he’d downed so far and the cigarette that seemed to last nearly forever. Stress showed in the stiffness of his spine and shoulders, in the little lines at the edges of his eyes. She rolled her eyes at him dramatically before leaning back and signaling one of the hospitality droids to bring her another beer.

Phasma let her mind wander a bit as bets were made and the cards dealt. Out of habit she scanned through the lounge, pausing when someone new walked over to the bar. The man was tall with pale skin and a mop of thick, dark hair that fell to his wide shoulders. For whatever reason he was wearing a knee-length black dress that left his well-muscled arms and legs on display, a pair of black sandals with little straps adorning his feet and ankles. She would never, ever, in her life, call this man anything close to pretty. In all honesty, he was a trainwreck.

His face was painted in a bare minimum of makeup, and it was wholly unknown to her. That in itself wasn’t out of the ordinary, considering the sheer amount of people aboard the ship. But there was something in the set of those powerful shoulders and the gait that made him look like he was trying not to stomp about in a pair of too-big boots that tugged at the back of her mind. Something about him screamed familiar to her. Hux was muttering about the slowness of the hospitality droids bringing him another brandy when a brilliant dawned on her. She had to work to keep the feral grin off her face as she turned to him.

“Might need to just go down to the bar and get it directly, probably be faster anyway,” she suggested. Hux snubbed out the remains of his cigarette, finally smoked down to the filter, grimaced at his hand of cards before tossing them to the table.

“Fine, don’t wait up for me though. I’ll sit this round out,” Hux said, adjusting his uniform before threading his way through the tables and chairs to the bar at the end of the lounge. Phasma waited till he was sufficiently out of earshot before grinning at the remaining sabacc players and slamming a stack of credit chips on the table.

“Hundred credits says Hux hits on the man at the bar.”

“What man at the bar,” A short and boyish-faced officer (Mitaka, she remembers him now) asks. They all turn or crane their heads to get a look. The bridge staff blanches once they catch sight of him, the three Stormtrooper commanders who came with Phasma have to duck their heads to keep in their laughter.

“You can’t be serious, the General would _never_ stoop so low as that!”

“Place your bets then.” Phasma gestures at the table, trying to not look horribly smug. Sure, the officers work with Hux day in and day out, but Phasma has known him for about ten years now. She’s seen some of the horrid men he’s previously gone after, though admittedly this one would be the worst yet. But Phasma _knows_ Hux and how his mind works (when it’s being controlled by his dick at least), and this is a prime opportunity to win her money back.

 

-

 

He’s four (or maybe it was five? Surely less than six…) drinks in, yet anyone would be mistaken if they thought him drunk. Hux does not indulge that much around his officers, it sets a bad example for them. However, he doubts they would blame him needing to drown himself in alcohol after the past few months. Series after series of delays on Starkiller base, hunting down Resistance spies that infiltrated a few of their bases, Supreme Leader Snoke breathing down their necks to find this accursed map to Skywalker, Kylo fucking Ren throwing tantrums and destroying equipment like some spoiled child denied a treat. He supposes that he should let loose a little more in the face of such stress, lest he die of an aneurism.

The bottom floor of the lounge isn’t crowded tonight, the usual press of off-duty officers and enlisted enjoying their leave. He lights another cigarette as he gets to the bar, leaning on it as he waves the droid over.

“Whiskey, neat,” Hux tells it, taking a long drag blowing the smoke from his nose. He finds an ashtray to his left and as he reaches for it, he sees a person sitting towards the end of the bar. His first assumption is that it’s a female, with the dress and hair and all, but a closer inspection quickly fixes that idea. He lets his eyes trail up the long, pale legs, over the chiseled planes of his chest that Hux has to wonder where he managed to even find a dress that would fit him. So enamored is he that he doesn’t notice the droid setting his tumbler of whiskey on the bar in front of him.

“You’re staring.” The voice is like espresso, deep and rich, and it sends a line of heat directly down to Hux’s groin. With a start he finds the man looking at him, dark brown eyes sizing him up, and much to his embarrassment he blushes under the gaze.

“Ah, um, excuse me. I, uhm,” the words trip in his mouth and he takes a drink of his whiskey to give himself a moment to collect himself. He’s used to making speeches in front of hundreds of people, yet the scrutiny of one man suddenly takes him apart.

“It’s ok, you can look,” the man says, lips quirked into a demur smile. Hux tosses back the rest of his drink, signals the droid for another, and takes a drag of his cigarette before he’s composed himself.

“You are,” Hux swallows, ashes his cigarette, “quite, ah, stunning.” He’s beyond caring about what stupid drivel falls from his lips, the alcohol swimming in his stomach and his trousers becoming uncomfortably tight. Hux watches the man take a drink from the martini glass in front of him (something luminescent green that must taste of fruit), lips leaving smudges where they touch the glass. He wants to lick the smudges off, wants to taste the drink on those luscious lips and his tongue. He grabs his whiskey from bar and drains it in one go. He coughs but holds himself together, sets the glass back onto the bar and dumps his cigarette into it. Hux gathers himself together, feeling a little lightheaded but he’s just had two shots of liquid courage poured down his throat and it seems he can do anything now.

“Would you like to go somewhere more… private,” Hux asks. He can see the man flush under the makeup on his face, his ears (big, like handles, Hux thinks) turning a lovely shade of red. Hux wants to trace the lines of them, feel the heat bleeding off of them through his gloves. Wants to push him onto the bar and run his lips over the stark lines of his collarbone. Wants to push the dress up and-

“Um, no.” It’s the mans’ turn to be flustered now, ears and face blazing hot to the point where Hux wonders if he said any of that out loud.

“You seem to be a bit… drunk, sir. Maybe you should go get some rest.”

It’s like a bucket of ice water is dumped over Hux. He blinks, and the reality of what he was doing, what he has _said_ , sinks into him. His face burns in mortification and he stands, pulling at his cuffs of his sleeves without thinking.

“You are… quite right. My apologies,” Hux nods to the man and stalks off, glad that though the world begins to tilt around him he keeps his back straight and marches forward without missing a step. He even makes it back to his quarters without tripping, falling, or running into anything. The door shuts behind him as he walks to his bedroom, stripping clothes and letting them fall wherever on the floor till he gets to his bed. He climbs in and pulls every blanket, sheet, and pillow on top of him, wishing that he could just disappear.

And that this erection would go away too.

 

-

 

Kylo had not ventured out like this many times before. It was mostly for the thrill of being able to be someone else, if only for a few hours, without the judgement and fear that accompanied his mask. He’s actually a bit surprised that no one had ever hit on him before, going from how often he’s found numerous crew thinking of others in a sexual manner. That he would be hit on by none other than General Hux, well… that… he’s not sure how to handle that. Hux hates him, and he generally feels the same way towards the red-haired man. He has to give him a slight nudge with the Force to get the man to come to his senses and leave before anything could happen, though there’s a thread of regret worming its way into him. Kylo smothers it, finishes his drink and leaves for his quarters. Lust and some other emotions he could not reliably name blended together, leaving his mind in turmoil.

He needed to meditate.

 

-

 

“Come to momma!” Phasma pulls the pile of credits towards her chest, grinning like a maniac at the horrified looks on everyone’s faces. By this point the bridge officers slouch off, wounded that their commander has seemingly failed them, while the Stormtroopers begin shuffling the sabacc deck.

“’Nother round, Captain,” one asks as Phasma pockets her winnings. She notices the man in the dress leaving, watching the way he walks out of the lounge. She’s suddenly reminded of a certain person by the set of his shoulders, the way he turns and walks out the door with his back slightly stooped. She has a guess at who he is and, feeling like her luck has finally come to her that night, she’s going to find out for sure.

“No thanks, I have some paperwork to finish before turning in.” She finishes the last of her beer before leaving, the troopers waving as she goes. She takes her time following the corridors down to the senior command habitation level. She knew which room she needed, though she had never been there before (she liked to know where all the commanders on the ship stayed, just in case).

She stood before the door, pressed the panel for entry request, and went into parade rest. After a few moments of nothing she pressed it again.

“Sir, I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.” She hoped she sounded like it was urgent. The longer she waited the more she felt like this was going to end badly. The door quietly whooshed open, however, and she stepped inside. Kylo Ren stood just before her, keeping her from venturing further into the darkened rooms. His mask was on, though he was only wearing the large, draping robe instead of his usual tunic. His feet, she noticed, were bare. She looked a bit closer, seeing that his toenails had been painted a light pink. A color that matched a certain shade of lipstick she’d seen earlier.

“Yes, Captain?” Ren ground out after she had stood silent a few moments too long.

“You were in the forward lounge this evening.”

“Are you so sure of that?” Ren’s voice was nearly a hiss through the vocoder.

“I have a proposition for you. If you would remove the helmet…?” There’s another long, tense moment where Phasma briefly wonders if he’s going to snap and kill her. His hands move and she unconsciously squeezes her eyes shut, expecting to feel an invisible vice grip clamp down on her throat, but instead there’s the click and hiss of the helmets seals releasing. She grins as her suspicions turn out right as Kylo Ren looks back at her.

“How would you like to go shopping, Lord Ren?”

“Shopping…?” Ren looks at her with equal parts suspicion and curiosity.

“Get you some things nicer and better fitting than that little black dress you have, how about it,” Phasma asks him excitedly.

“What do you get out of this?” His eyes are drilling holes into her head, or it might be his force powers she’s not really sure.

“I saw what happened with Hux.” His eyes narrow and pink begins to dread across his cheeks. “It’s good though. You. And him. You’re exactly his type you see,” she tries explaining to him. Ren is looking at her like she’s started speaking in tongues, and for a second she worries she’s going to leave this room alive.

“Captain, you are aware that the General, to put it lightly, quite dislikes me?”

“Well, yes but a good romance often starts with some strong emotions involved!”

He blinks at her slowly. Panic wells up in her chest.

“…And I might have placed some bets about that that I can’t really afford to lose.” There, the truth was out. She felt lighter for it, even with Ren still staring at her blankly. Eventually he steps back, setting his helmet on a stand near the bedroom door. The robes drop with a shrug and he’s left in his little black dress, hands resting on his hips with his head tilted to the side in thought. She’s about to turn and make a run for it when he looks over at her, the beginnings of a smile on his face.

“Shopping, you say?”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hux has no shame, Kylo doesn't really know what to do, and Phasma inappropriately uses her officer perks for some spying.
> 
> Featuring guest appearances by Millicient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos! I am not worthy!
> 
> Rating hike! Finally getting down to business here...
> 
> The is this one: http://www.ericdress.com/product/Ericdress-Bohemian-Vintage-Print-Maxi-Dress-11303281.html, per request!  
> The song that I imagine playing towards the end is Metal Gear Solid 2's Can't Say Goodbye to Yesterday.

Kylo tries to meditate, sitting cross-legged in the small room attached to his bedroom clad in just a loose pair of pants. The air is cold aboard the ship, the systems running on lower power as maintenance crews overhaul some of the core relays, but for Kylo the temperature is perfect. He’s drifted in and out of a light trance since beginning in the early hours of the morning, yet thoughts and images keep breaking through the measured calm he wishes to obtain. Only when he hears the blip of his datapad does he finally open his eyes and sighs in defeat. Meditation was not going to work for him today, it seemed.

  
He stretches his legs and arms as he walks to his desk in the antechamber, drawn to the little blinking light on the corner of the datapad. He keys it on with the swipe of a finger, flicking through the multitude of memos, announcements, daily First Order propaganda notices, messages from General Hux (most of them requests, in escalating degrees of sharpness, to please be mindful of all First Order property including the training droids and equipment, they are needed for the stormtrooper program and can’t function when they have been turned into a useless pile of slag by his lightsaber.), till he finds his newest message dated a few minutes ago from Phasma.

“Sir. I have a few details and concerns about our recent exchange that need to be addressed. If you would meet me at my quarters at 1800 to speak to me about this it would be most appreciated.  
Captain Phasma”

Kylo turns off the datapad, tossing it back onto the desk before leaning against the nearby wall. Apprehension over this… arrangement with Phasma is still a knot in his stomach. He could always go and wipe her memory of the entire thing, he was exceptionally skilled at that particular skill, but… There’s the thrill and fear of discovery that pumps adrenaline into his veins that is somehow completely different than the rush of battle. It feels as if his… excursions for the lack of a better term, feel a piece of him that he didn’t know he really needed. Then there were those fascinating thoughts from Hux. They were sincere though he was drunk, and Kylo wondered how far he could push him before one (or both) of them managed to fall. And, there was this supposed shopping trip Phasma had promised…

Kylo sends her an acknowledgment and decides that maybe some physical exertion would best help clear his mind.

-

  
Hux wakes up about ten minutes before his set alarm, as is normal. The hangover isn’t quite as bad as he expected it to be, considering how utterly ridiculous and inappropriate his behavior was the prior evening. He supposes it’s a good thing that he never caught the man in a dress’ name, or he’d be half tempted to look him up in the rosters. Hux groans when his cock stirs, trapped as it were beneath him. He doesn’t even know what it is about that man that appeals to him (or rather his dick, the logical portions of his mind would be happy not thinking about any of it at the moment thank you very much). He was utterly ridiculous, all strong lines and well defined muscles standing out in that strappy black dress and those ugly little sandals. And his hair, definitely too long for regulation (logical mind says that there’s a supervisor somewhere in need of chewing out for not dealing with it already) and looking like silk that he wants to card his hands through, pull it into tight fists and yank his head back to run teeth along the exposed line of throat. Or just rest his hands on it as those lips stretch around Hux’s cock…

His pulse is thudding in his ears as arousal lights through him, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s shifting his hips again the mattress. He moves the blankets to reach down and touch himself but there’s a dignified snort and yawn from the other side of the bed. There’s a sharp stab of panic that jolts through him as he lifts his head, relief a balm as he sees that it’s just Millicent blinking at him sleepily from the little plush bed he’d bought her on his last shore leave. She gives him a quiet meow before stretching and curling back up for her early morning nap.

“Sorry about that, Dearest,” Hux whispers, giving her a quick pet and scratch before sliding out of bed to head for the refresher. He was definitely not going to masturbate in front of her, it was just plain barbaric. He turned the shower on to cold, standing under the frigid water hoping it would chase away his erection yet it seemed his body was quite determined this morning. He mutters a curse under his breath as he turns the water to near scalding, he might as well finish or risk being late for his shift on the bridge.

Hux has to stifle a groan as he leans back and grasps his cock, already slick with water and precome. He makes a tight fist, tighter than he usually goes for, and works his hand along the shaft. He thinks of those lips, luscious and bruised from kissing and biting, the brown in his eyes reduced to a thin ring around blown pupils, the deep timbre of that voice as he moans and begs for Hux to fuck him harder, harder, don’t stop, I’m almost there-

Hux’s knees almost give out as he comes, has to brace his left hand against the shower wall for support. He’s left gasping in the aftermath, letting the hot stream of water wash away the ejaculate that covered his hand and groin. When it feels like his knees won’t suddenly dump him to the floor he pushes away from the wall and goes through his normal routine, feeling like he’s so much lighter in the post-orgasmic haze.  
There’s an extra spring in his step as he dresses then sets out a small dish of food and fresh bowl of water for Millicent. Hux double checks his appearance in the mirror in his bedroom before heading out for his shift on the bridge.

He doesn’t even notice he’s five minutes late for his start of shift.

  
-

  
Phasma’s quarters were near the stormtrooper barracks. Though her rank allowed her to use the habitation level with the other senior officer staff, she preferred to bunk closer down with her troops. Kylo stalked down the corridors wearing the black pants, tank top, and light boots that made up the standard training uniform. He blended into the sparse groups of troopers who jogged in unison down the hallways, even getting a few nods from single troopers on their way about the deck. He kept his pace unhurried but at the full length of his stride, nodding back as necessary to keep anyone from being suspicious, and made it to Phasma’s rooms before long. He hit the button requesting entry and tried not to look as anxious and exposed as he felt. Thankfully she must have been waiting for him and the door slid open after only a moment, then slide shut behind him soon as he cleared the threshold.

“Punctual, I’m impressed,” Phasma called from somewhere in the bedroom. Kylo wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, actually interacting with people on what he could assume was a friendly level wasn’t something he was used to. He took another step forward, looking around at all the…. Things Phasma has in her quarters. The antechamber held her desk against the far wall, the remaining walls lined with shelves of datacards and weaponry. Blasters, rifles, vibroblades, a case of what he assumed were grenades, and a variety of weapons were all kept in pristine condition in their cases.

“Admiring my babies, are you?” Kylo nearly jumped, Phasma had managed to walk up next to him without him noticing. For a woman a couple of inches taller than him, she moved quietly when she wanted.

“An impressive collection you have. What was it you wished to discuss,” he asked, anxiety tightening in his shoulderblades.

“Right, yes. Come in, there’s only the one chair in there,” she replies, slinging an arm across his shoulders and steering him toward the bedroom. This room feels cluttered, if only because the small space (smaller than his own bedroom for sure) was crowded by her bed, another line of shelving for her armor lining the wall across from the bed, and a nightstand that was home to her favorite rifle and blaster. A long box was lying across the foot of the bed, and Phasma gestured to it.

“A little present for you, to begin with. Also, look over for a second.”

“What-“ Kylo looks over at her and she has her datapad held in front of her face, and then there’s the telltale sound of a picture being snapped. “Why did you-“

“Go open your present while I finish this,” Phasma waves Kylo towards the bed as she sits against the wall next to the refresher, datapad resting on her knees as she types away. Kylo almost presses the issue but decides against it, instead pulling the top off the box. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, is a white garment. He gingerly picks it up, letting the fabric fall down to the floor. Its’ soft to the touch and has a light, flowing quality to it. The scene of a beach with flowers seems to be painted upon it, the blues and greens striking against the white.

“It’s lovely,” Kylo tells her, voice quiet and reverent. Gifts like this were basically non-existent to him, the few he receives from his knights were usually ashes or bones (or those stupid little cookies that he will never admit to anyone that he actually likes). He drapes the dress on the bed next to the box and sees that there were still things inside it. There as a pair of lacy white shoes with low heels, and another little box that held a gold and pearl necklace with matching earrings and… he assumed were clips for ones’ hair.

“It’s a hand-me-down, hope you don’t mind that. Emperor knows I’ll never be wearing it again.” Phasma gives a little shrug as she finishes her typing and stands up.

“Should fit you just fine too. You might be big but I think the proportions should match pretty well. If not we can get it altered tomorrow while we’re off-ship. Now,” she hands him the datapad, purposely ignoring the incredulous look Kylo gave her at the mention of her wearing the dress. (He couldn’t even imagine it, where would she hide her blaster? Or the three vibroblade knives she always had strapped hidden on her person. Those he knew about since he could feel the tiniest vibrations they gave off through the Force, and he doubted anyone else knew about them.) “I’ve made something of an alternate identity for you to use when you’re… doing whatever it is you do in your little dresses. Can’t have the crew knowing our fearsome Kylo master of the Knights of Ren likes feeling pretty on his days off now, can we?”

The picture Phasma had just taken was in the left corner of the datapage, and though he looked a bit startled it wasn’t a bad picture of him. Kylo went through the entry, memorizing the information.

“Matt? A radar technician? Can’t I be something more…” He motions his hand around in a mostly useless guesture.

“Well, you can’t be one of my troopers, that’d be pushing our luck a bit too much I think. Can’t be an officer or Hux would pick apart any holes in your story faster than a Jawa tearing apart a droid. So a lowly technician you are. Now, try on the dress, I want to see how it fits.”  
Kylo gives up on asking useless questions at this point and begins to strip. He’s left in just his pants when he pauses, suddenly feeling self-conscious in front of Phasma.

“Go on, I’ve got a girlfriend so don’t worry about me. And a wife too, so yeah.”

“A… wait wife?” Kylo goggles at her and she beams at him.

“Of course, she’s right over there!” Kylo follows to the nightstand she points at, expecting to see a picture or holograph but instead there is only her chromium plated blaster. He stares at it blankly, turns his gaze back to her, and then rolls his eyes as he shoves his pants down his hips. He pulls the dress over his head, wiggling around to get his arms through the sleeves properly, ignoring the stifled giggles coming from Phasma. After a little pulling and adjusting Kylo thinks he’s got it well situated, it fits his shoulders (barely, he can feel a bit of tightness in the fabric spanning them) though it could do with being taken up a little in the hips. He steps into the shoes, finds them a little tight in the toe box but nothing he couldn’t deal with.

“Well,” Kylo asks, turning to let Phasma get a good look at him. She waggles her eyebrows at him while dragging a finger in a circle. Kylo sighs but complies, twirling gently on the tips of his toes, letting the skirts flutter out around him.

“It’s perfect! Looks so much better on you than it did me, that’s for damn sure.” She gives him a wide grin and claps her hands excitedly. “Hux won’t be able to turn this down, no sir. Oh, you are going to make me a rich woman!” Kylo can’t help but blush, thinking of Hux and the thoroughly indecent thoughts that had been drifting through his mind the night before.

“Do you have underthings that aren’t black? Also a bit nicer than the regulation stuff,” Phasma asks, giving him an appraising look. “You can see those through the dress, they’re took dark.”

“Um, no. No I don’t,” Kylo manages to answer, becoming even more self-conscious. He’s afraid to glimpse at her thoughts, worried she might do something crazy like find a pair of her own to have him wear. If she does that this while deal was going to be over.

“Could go commando,” she suggests, and he blushes even further at that. Kylo paces around the room, trying to work some of the nervous energy that was making his stomach clench out. Phasma gives another snort and he turns to look at her.

“What now,” Kylo barks, getting defensive at all the scrutiny.

“You need to learn how to walk properly. It’s like you’re trying to crush something underfoot stomping about like that. Here,” Phasma gets up and does a small circuit to show him. Kylo follows, trying to imitate her motions.

“Better. Stop lifting your knees so much, swing them out gently instead. Don’t stomp the heel down, be gentler, place more pressure to the ball of your foot. Better, better. Just practice and you’ll get the hang of it.” She goes about the room, picking up his clothes and boots, wadding them into a pile that she hands to him.

“Now go finish getting ready, we’re meeting in the fourth lounge on the port side of the recreation deck in just over an hour. Don’t be late!” She pushes him out of the doorway, leaving him gaping as the door slides shut. He glances back and forth down the corridor, finds it empty, and breaks into a dead run. It’s a bit awkward, the heels clacking loudly but he makes it back to his own quarters without being seen. Kylo wishes she’d told him earlier, didn’t she know just how long it took to get his hair dry and make sure his makeup was applied correctly? He manages it in record time though, admiring his job in the mirror. It looks good but… Phasma was right. He shucks off his underwear, tossing it onto his bed, and poses in front of the mirror again.

Now, it was perfect.

  
-

General Hux doesn’t know why he allowed his senior bridge team to convince him to go back out to the longue tonight. He’d much prefer to spend the evening alone with Millicent, trying his best to forget his lapse of judgment the night before. Somehow, though, he found himself walking down the corridors with them, heading for one of the nicer lounges that the officers used. They chatter about another round of sabacc, determined to win back their lost money, and Hux resolves to keep him drinking to a minimum this time.

The crew affectionately called this lounge the Observatory for the huge sheet of transparisteel that spanned the entirety of the far wall, letting them marvel at the stars while enjoying cards, drinks, and the occasional band. It was sparsely occupied this evening and the lights set low, quiet music filtering through the air. The ambiance is soothing and Hux can feel the tightness in his begin to unwind as they head for the card table next to the window. He decides that a drink to begin the evenings’ fun would be safe and breaks away from the others towards the bar. There’s a familiar wide-shouldered figure leaning against the polished wood surface speaking to the hospitality droid and a mix of thrill and dread settle in his stomach.

The man is leaning at such an angle that his shapely rear is on display and one leg is bent, the toe of his heel-clad foot tapping to the beat of the music. Hux takes a quick breath, squares his shoulders, and approaches the bar.

(He can’t see the card table across the room, and the defeated looks on the face of the bridge crew and one stormtrooper commander as they throw some credit chips at Phasma.)

“What a coincidence this is,” Hux tells the man in the dress. He’s wearing a set of Nabooian pearls that perfectly fit the light material and color of the dress. The man turns his head to look at Hux, giving him a shy smile. His lips, Hux notes, are painted a deeper red than what they were the night before.

“Indeed,” he purrs in that velvet voice, the depth of it sending a shiver down his back. Hux reminds himself to take it slow this time, plan it out and try not to become brash.

“I must apologize for my behavior last night, it was exceedingly rude of me,” Hux gives him a small apologetic bow.

(Mitaka throws his credit chips across the table with such ferocity that one smacks Phasma on the forehead as she guffaws)

“Accepted, though one cannot be blamed on what the body desires with lower inhibitions. And one cannot also blame someone in such a position of importance and stress from wanting to lower those inhibitions on occasion.” The man leans his elbows on the bar, letting his chin rest on a cupped hand. There’s definitely an intelligence to him, another facet of the mystery that Hux has decided he wants to slowly unravel.

“Might I know your name,” Hux asks him and it rewarded with smile that shows off dazzling white teeth.

“Matt. May I call you Hux?” The hospitality droid sets Matts’ drink in front of him on the bar, and Hux signals it to get him a measure of brandy.

“Yes, Hux is fine. What’s your position, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Actually, I do mind that.” Hux almost deflates at the rejection but Matt continues hurriedly, “The less you know the harder to press fraternization charges against either of us.” It’s a smart move, Hux knows, but he still wants to know more about this man. He decides that he can slowly work the information out of him later.

“An astute observation. Well, then,” Hux replies and stands up (everyone at the card table is watching rapt, credit chips clutched to chests and silent encouragements or dissuasions being mouthed).

“Do you know how to play sabacc,” Hux asks and offers his arm to Matt, who accepts the invitation.

(Phasma and her stormtroopers grasp at the pile of credits tossed to the middle of the table as the bridge crew gesture at them rudely. They all manage to return to a semblance of normalcy before Hux leads Matt to the table.)

  
-

As it turns out, Kylo does know how to play sabacc. While he uses the barest brush of the force to skin each mind at the table to know what their cards and play strategies are, he honestly doesn’t need to use it. He grew up watching his father play in high-stakes tournaments (most of them far from legal) on the rare trips when Han was trusted with taking care of him. As he grew older Han had eventually taught him how to play, and, most importantly, how to cheat.

He kept to a strategy of winning only slightly more than he lost in an erratic pattern. He sipped sparsely at his drink (which actually had very little alcohol in it) while everyone besides Hux did their level best to drink themselves under the table. Even Phasma’s face was flushed from the numerous beers she had downed, and one stormtrooper was already passed out on the floor, snoring loudly. Kylo allows Hux to win this hand, enjoying the way he gloats at them as he heads to the lav unit. Mitaka and another officer, a small dark haired woman who went by Alexa, tossed their cards to the table and bowed out. Phasma checks the chronometer on his wrist, stretches, and also tosses her cards in. She and the remaining conscious stromtrooper gather up their fallen comrade and move to follow the deafeated bridge crew outside. She rushes back just before leaving the lounge, stopping next to Kylo.

“I forgot, we’re taking a shuttle down at 0900 tomorrow morning, don’t be late,” Phasma tells him, then runs to join the group before Hux comes returns. Kylo is alone for a few moments before he moves to one of the nearby couches that was turned to face the window. He settles into the corner, making sure to smooth the lines of his dress to keep it from wrinkling too badly, and gazes out into the vast glittering star field. Hux returns shortly thereafter to lean against the armrest, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves as he, too, watches the stars. Kylo notices the music has changed to a quiet jazz track with quiet, almost haunting vocals and a moment later Hux has turned to him and silently offered a hand. Kylo isn’t sure what is going on, has to use the Force to check Hux’s thoughts to find out. He takes the outstretched hand and lets Hux pull him to his feet, guiding him to a cleared space nearby. Hux keeps his left hand clasped around Kylo’s right, his right hand going to Kylo’s hip. Kylo has a quiet moment of panic, having never danced before and not knowing what to do or where his left hand should go, before eventually placing it on Hux’s right shoulder. Hux leads them, keeping the steps smalls and slow, more of a gentle swaying than dancing to Kylo.

(Two decks up Phasma and her small crew were crowded around a monitor in an empty office. Phasma had managed to use her security clearance to view the video feeds from the recreational deck. Mitaka had managed to find a way to mess with the ambiance settings for the Observatory, and after a few moments of bickering they picked the music they thought would prove their respective points. They watched with rapt attention as Hux approached ‘Matt’ and invited him to dance. Mitaka let out a whoop as the two stood together and danced slowly, and he grinned at Phasma.  
“See, told you he’s like some hopeless romantic,” Mitaka gloats and Phasma snarls wordlessly as she shoves the credit chips at him before kicking an empty trashcan across the room.)

The music slowly fades after a while and they still, standing closer than when they had started. Kylo’s pulse quickens when Hux tilts his head back to look up at him (he would normally enjoy seeing Hux have to make accommodation for Kylo’s superior height, but right now it just makes him feel even more awkward), eyes oh so green in the dim starlight. Hux runs a hand through his hair, tucking a stray lock behind an ear before cupping the back of Kylo’s head. Hux moves closer and Kylo drops his hands to Hux’s waist. He’s getting so close Kylo doesn’t know what to do, why hadn’t Phasma told him how this stuff actually works, what does he-

Oh, that’s nice, he thinks as Hux’s lips ghost a light kiss over his then press against them more firmly but still oh so gentle. Kylo lets his eyes flutter closed and mimics the motions of Hux’s lips, still not sure what he’s doing but it must be alright if Hux hasn’t pulled away to start berating his lack of skill.

(There’s shouting from the office two decks above.  
Mitaka and Alexa are cheering “GO FOR IT SIR, DON’T LET US DOWN!” and “THAT’S RIGHT GENERAL KEEP IT NICE AND PROPER!”  
Phasma has gripped the security monitor with one hand and is shaking as she yells. “USE YOUR FUCKING TONGUE LIKE THE WHORE I KNOW YOU ARE YOU GINGER SLUT, FUCK!”)

It feels like an eternity before Hux pulls away, leaving Kylo breathless and gasping but wanting to never stop. He takes this initiative this time, leaning down to capture Hux’s lips with his own, more insistent this time, and lets one hand slide from its place to squeeze Hux’s ass through his uniform. He delights in the surprised little gasp Hux gives, uses that chance to flick his tongue into his mouth and taste him. The hand in Kylo’s hair becomes a grip, pulling his head down as his body is brought flush against Hux.

There’s a sharp chirp from Hux’s pants and they jerk apart as if shocked. Hux pulls his miniature datapad from his pocket and checks the message, sighing as he reads.

“I have to go oversee some last minute adjustments to our resupply schedule.” Hux looks genuinely unhappy at being interrupted. “Can I… see you tomorrow? Are you busy?”

“Oh, um, I’m actually going down to the city tomorrow,” Kylo manages to stammer, suddenly not entirely sure if he wants to go anymore. Hux is silent for a moment then smiles at him.

“Perhaps I’ll see you planetside then,” Hux replies, then reaches for Kylo’s arm.

“Here,” he says as he pulls a pen from a pocket and scribbles a set of numbers onto the soft skin of Kylo’s wrist. “My personal commlink number. Call me if you’re available tomorrow evening.”

“Good night, Matt. I hope to hear from you soon.” Hux then lifts the hand to his lips, giving Kylo a small bow before placing a quick kiss to his knuckles before turning and leaving the lounge.

Kylo is left with his heart pounding in his chest, staring at the numbers written in Hux’s small, neat handwriting on his wrist. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, running his hands through his hair before shaking his head to clear it.

He’s not sure if he’ll ever wash the ink off.

  
-

Hux is halfway to the bridge, riding in a turbolift when the thought comes to him. He looks down at his right hand, flexing it and rubbing his fingers together. He doesn’t remember feeling the lines of Matt’s underwear through the dress…

Hux blushes, making a detour to a lav unit before heading to the bridge.


End file.
